


Tale as Old as Time

by geekmama



Series: Aftermath [23]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Babies, F/M, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-07
Updated: 2018-03-07
Packaged: 2019-03-28 06:03:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 635
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13897842
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/geekmama/pseuds/geekmama
Summary: Hope of the future… a more intense experience of the present… a deeper realization of life itself…Written for Day 4 of Sherlolly Appreciation Week, Theme:Early Marriage / Parent!lock (little kids).





	Tale as Old as Time

**Author's Note:**

> With thanks, again, to Ellis_Hendricks for beta reading.
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 _Hope of the future… a more intense experience of the present… a deeper realization of life itself…_  

A son. 

He had a _son_. 

Sherlock looked down, into the face of _his son_ , tightly swaddled and asleep in his father’s hands. Six pounds and three ounces of what was the most beautiful thing Sherlock had ever seen -- save for the baby’s mother, now dozing beside them, her lips still touched with that smile. 

When she’d taken her baby in her arms that first time, she had exclaimed, “Oh! Sherlock, he looks just like you!” with such laughter and happiness in her tired eyes that the trials of the previous hours had faded quite away in their light. 

Now, with everyone at peace (at least for the moment -- Rosie Watson had taught them many things, darling that she was), Sherlock studied this new little being closely. Molly was probably correct. The delicate lips were his, certainly, and the eyes seemed to be similar in form to those of the baby in all those pictures his mother had insisted on showing off when they’d taken a mini-break in Suffolk a few weeks ago (strange how much easier it was to tolerate being returned to child status when Molly was by his side). The true color of his son’s eyes wouldn’t be known for some months, of course, but there was already a fine fuzz of dark hair on the soft pate, and the boy was long-limbed for all he was so very small -- the midwife had gleefully remarked upon it almost immediately. 

The birth had actually gone very well, in keeping with Molly’s pregnancy in general. For all her minor eccentricities, Molly knew how to take care of herself _and_ the people around her, and for the last year this had been brought home to him in the most intimate and resounding ways. Now, sitting beside her, he could only wonder at his good fortune in having finally awakened and claimed what had been there all along. 

She was magnificent. A truly exceptional human being. And she was _his_. 

As was this scrap of humanity in his hands. 

Sherlock was aware that his emotional state was entirely compromised by this point, but couldn’t bring himself to care. To the music of Molly’s soft breathing, he contemplated the sight of his large hand cradling his son’s head: so small and round and perfect, and so full of potential. 

Joy… heartbreak… perhaps greatness. 

The weight and beauty of the moment seared him, and his eyes stung. His parents had probably looked down upon their tiny Sherlock in much the same way. And one day, if fortune, or luck, or God’s blessing held true, this newest Holmes would be privileged to repeat the cycle. 

There was a sudden, small noise at the door, and Sherlock looked up to see his mother’s face peeking in, with his father hovering behind her. 

Sherlock couldn’t help smiling, and they interpreted the unspoken invitation correctly and entered. 

His mother was, ludicrously, almost on tip-toe as she crossed the room, and his father’s first words were uttered in a stage whisper: “Everyone’s fine? Have you named him?” 

“William Hamish Vernet,” Sherlock said, softly. “But we’re calling him Will.” 

Sherlock’s father puffed up like a pigeon with delight, and his mother breathed, “Ahhh! Perfect! Let me hold him,” and, as she took the baby from Sherlock, murmured, “ _My little Will!_ ” 

“ _Our_ little Will,” came Molly’s voice beside him. 

He turned to her, and there was such love in the eyes that were upon him that he was rendered speechless and could only take the hand she was holding out to him, bend, and place a kiss -- and possibly a tear or two -- upon it. 

Life, or something similar, like some beautiful, old tale. 

And it was his.

 

~.~

 


End file.
